


Division

by evilRevan



Series: Wicked Games & Wicked Hearts [2]
Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Post Tyranny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 09:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilRevan/pseuds/evilRevan
Summary: The threat of war loomed just beyond the Tiers, Pox's army held at bay by the Fatebinder now Empress' edict. They waited patiently for it to subside and claim the Tiers and the false Overlord in the name of Kyros herself. It took nearly two years for the edict of Storms to finish wreaking havoc upon the Northern Empire, the howling storm nothing but a harmless breeze against the skin.Empress Reyvanna prepares for the confrontation. Steels herself against what if's plaguing her mind. With her army roused she has only one thing left to do- order the Archon of Justice to stay within the walls of the Court. (Set Post Tyranny)





	Division

The air felt heavy and suffocating with the scent of bronze, the acidic tang of armor polish, and the familiar soothing smell of treated leather. Reyvanna inhaled slowly. Taking in the intoxicating scent of impending war with ease. Having taken part in the Conquest of the Tiers Reyvanna didn’t mind the harsh almost biting quality of the air as it filled her lungs, and instead allowed her fingers to realign the straps of her leather gauntlets to properly wrap around her hands.

Outside to the far north, dark clouds saturated with rainwater began to recede from their year occupation over Kyros’ empire. The crackling of thunder faded away until all you could hear were the gentle tones of rushing water and gentle breezes. Even the winds which had battered against the sides of houses, ripping roofs from their nailed down positions, exposing the inner workings of the home to their merciless machinations, dwindled into harmless caresses along the skin.

The Edict of Storms had finally ended. And with it, Kyros’ army marched to the drums of war.

 _Time_ was no longer a _luxury_ for the Tiers.

Dusky freckled fingers curled against the hardened leather of her gauntlets, the knuckles turning a lighter shade of brown from the tension building just under the skin. Uncertainty and fear plagued the Empress.  Bound her limbs with chains of made of iron and ice- unyielding and unbreakable against even the most brutal of punishments. Stagnant air slipped between her ochre lips. The taste of brimstone and ash lingered on the tip of her tongue. A reminder of what was to come. _Death_.

Deft agile fingers readjusted ill-fitting straps. Pulling the leather taut against her skin until it felt like it was her skin- only thicker and able to withstand the cut of a blade or a dagger. It wouldn’t stand up to fire or ice for the material would either burn or crumble under duress. In those situations, Reyvanna would rely on her ability to slip in and out of the fire, quite literally. Everything boiled down to one’s own ability to survive. To kill. To skirt death. Nothing else mattered in war. Only live and stand upon the bodies of the fallen. Kill or be killed. A cruel taste of the circle of life if nothing else.

Round ears twitched under a mess of long mellow brown curls, hyper-aware of footsteps inching closer to her room, one which stood in complete darkness as Reyvanna hadn’t bothered to relight the scones once the oil dissipated into the air. 

“Your _Imperial Majesty_.” The Adjudicator’s voice culled the silence, demanding attention under the allure of civility and regulations.

Refusing to meet hard grey eyes Reyvanna continued to ready herself for war. Ignoring the click of the door as it creaked shut behind the enormous archon, nor the hiss of fire as a nearby sconce suddenly flared to life with the slightest hint of magic.

Despite having never witnessed the Adjudicator use magic in her lifetime, the empress was keenly aware he had the capacity to utilize it to suit his needs. It was rare. And seldom used. The smoke which normally curled from under his robes wasn’t conjured from his magic. Merely a by-product of being an Archon. It reacted to his emotions. Came and went at his behest. But it wasn’t magic. Not in the traditional sense.

The floorboards creaked loudly. Indicating the Archon of Justice banished the twisted clouds of inky black smoke holding him several inches off the ground, adding his already monstrous height.

Out of the corner of her eye, Reyvanna watched as the bronze gavel, which had always been glued to the Archon’s hand, set aside. The symbol of justice and order rested against the wall closest to the doorway. The young Archon knew the meaning behind the gesture. Tunon was here of his own volition. Not as an archon. Not as a judge, jury, and executioner. Just simply a  _man_.

“ _Reyvanna._ ” His careful measured tone cracked a little, expressing something different underneath his normally toneless voice. Soft brown eyes rose to meet expecting steel grey eyes, silently watching as those two softened like her’s. Unlike his appearance in the court, these eyes didn’t hold the sharp piercing quality he viewed all petitioners. These eyes were meant for  _her._

Again Reyvanna could feel her fingers curl into tight fists in a fit of nervous energy. An idiot could tell why he had come to see her. Knew the reason. Knew what he’d say. And Reyvanna had tried so hard to steer clear of him if only to avoid the subject. No longer could she walk away from the elephant in the room. Not with him standing in her room, setting aside his gavel, and making it known he wouldn’t move until she talked to him.

Reyvanna pressed her lips together until they formed a tight firm line. “ _Don’t._  I know why you’re here,” she began. Hints of stress and fear seeping into her naturally husky voice. The Huntress didn’t wish to have this conversation. Genuinely didn’t want her bleeding heart exposed for him to witness… to see the depth of weakness lancing through the core of her being.

A singular gloved hand rose in the air his voice dipping low, “If you know then enlightened me to the reason why.” Holding his gaze Reyvanna witnessed as his eyes hardened for a fraction of a second. Brief as it was it left a very clear impression on her. He was none too pleased with current events.

“The court will need someone to keep it in check. Kyros is liable to send any or all of her spies to force it to crumble from the inside out while I engage her army.” Reyvanna didn’t bother mentioning who would need to be left behind to ensure chaos didn’t greet her when she came back from dealing with Pox’s army. It went without saying.

Still, it didn’t ease the stabbing burning pain of betrayal she inflicted upon him. Even now she was keenly aware Tunon struggled with human emotions, many of which he had suppressed for centuries after deciding it was the best solution to remaining bias in the face of meting out justice. Their relationship shook the very foundation of his decision. By being in a relationship with what the public considered his master, he would be biased and therefore, _unfit_  to properly met out justice in a cordial fair manner. 

And yet, for so long, in the face of the court and public eye, he had managed to hide his emotions slowly bubbling to the surface in regards to her. In private he was different. Not unwholly different then she knew of him as a fatebinder- but there was no doubt he felt more than he had in his four-hundred years of living. 

The stoic archon cracked. “The Fatebinders are well equipped to handle such matters in my stead. This you  _know_.” In this he was correct.

Reyvanna, having been a fatebinder in his service knew Rhogalus, Calio, and Nunoval were fully capable of putting a stop to any outbreaks of rebellion within the court’s walls in their absence.  _Still_ …. Reyvanna’s teeth worried her bottom lip.

“My decision is final,  _Tunon_.  _You_  are to  _remain_  with the  _court_.” Reyvanna’s voice rose an inch and hardened by a mile.

A spike of power shattered what precious few glasses remained on her nightstand, the telltale tendrils of hellish smoke rising above the remains as if summoned. The shattering of glass didn’t startle her. Nor the warm greys in his eyes shifting towards colder tones- angry didn’t quite encapsulate the look in his eyes.

_Betrayal. Fury. Contempt._

This was the first time she invoked her authority as Empress onto him. Forcing him to obey or else undermine her authority and therefore, the court. Afterall, how could the public follow an Empress if the ones sworn to her failed to do exactly as she commanded?

From where she stood, she could clearly see the way his hands balled into fists, straining the hellishly coarse material of his gloves over the skin trapped underneath. The fabric would chafe. Rub the skin raw at times. And the Adjudicator didn’t care.

When he finally spoke it was as if frost crackled under one’s foot, “I see.” Sharp eyes narrowed in her direction. “As you command, your Imperial Majesty.”

Reyvanna flinched at the sheer cold exuding from his words, the chilling numb look in Tunon’s eyes as he mentally tried to reign in his chaotic emotions. Violent wisps of blackened smoke curled out from his feet, whipping around as trying to find a physical outlet for his seething hatred.

Wordlessly he sharply turned. His feet carrying him towards the locked door. Ignoring the nagging voice in her head to leave him be, to let him soak in his anger- to distract him from the possibilites of her falling in battle, she took one step towards him. Then another. And another. Automatically her hand shot out towards him, her exposed fingers grasping the coarse linens of his sleeve. The contrasting color of purple and black stripes lingered in her head as she tried to tear him away from the door and closer to her, deep in her room where anything they said or did would remain hidden from prying eyes.

The masked Archon of Justice provided some resistance in being pulled away, anger rolling off him in waves. When he was far enough to satisfy Reyvanna’s desire to keep him from running, she let go of his sleeve- grasping the front of his robes. The action alone surprised the older Archon as it took only one swift tug for him to be forced to bend at the knees, his head now level with that of Reyvanna’s. 

Guilt twisted in her brown eyes as she stared at him. While she wanted to come back alive after the war, there was a slim chance that might not happen. If that was the case, she didn’t want this to be the last conversation they had.

“Tunon…” She paused for only a moment to collect herself. Banishing the need to let her eyes water as the thought of being unable to see him again crossed her mind. “Your life matters more to me than anyone else’s.” Part of her didn’t recognize the soft undertones in her words. The way her voice wavered ever so slightly.

Tunon did. Despite being held down by her he managed to shift a little into a more comfortable posture, their height differences making many things an issue in how they could _interact_. The frigid sheet of ice lining over his steel grey eyes lightened up slightly. His facial expression hidden behind his stark white mask known to all.

Seconds trickled through their fingers as silence infected the air they breathed. Both struggling with their own demons in the face of Kyros’ army advancing upon the Tiers. Tunon knew of Pox’ prowess due to personal experience. Reyvanna, as Empress, needed to be on the frontlines in order to make a show of force. Shrinking from the challenge would send a message to all she wasn’t fit to rule and weaker in comparison to the overlord.

This was a no-win situation. And nestled at the core of it was:  _fear_. Jagged claws tore apart her insides as the heinous emotion claimed her dreams in the night. Losing him… it would break her. Perhaps she’d lose her mind like Kyros. Or lose all hope. Neither was an acceptable outcome.

Tunon was the first to break the silence, “My life means little. Without you, this campaign would fail.” The logical, methodical tone sinking into his baritone voice stung. Skin the color of freshly wet dirt began to turn ashen from the strain, her fingers gripping the front of his robe even tighter. 

For once, Reyvanna looked away from the Archon. “As an Archon or as you are, Tunon?” The Adjudicator would know what she meant. What she was asking of him here and now. 

The answer became clear when a scratchy glove rested over the hand holding him in place. “ _As I am._ ”

There wasn’t anything else to say. Nothing. All Reyvanna could process was her head inching towards his, her lips pressed against the cool metal of his mask. It felt like ice against her lips. Cold and cruel. Tunon wouldn’t be able to feel it. But the action alone meant more than physical contact.

Or it would have. A singular hand on her chest pushed her by gently, the hand which had rested over her own rose upwards towards the mask she had been pushed from. 

It snaked behind the hood Tunon wore over his head. A sharp click rang echoed in the spacious room. Two more clicks and the very hand which had been inside his hood moved to the bottom of his iron mask.

Slowly it rose enough to expose the pale skin of his face to Reyvanna’s eyes. Thin sharp lips were revealed before the mask stopped inching upwards. And then…

A familiar taste of pungent tea leaves and smoke claimed her mouth as the warmth chased away the cruel bite of metal lingering on her lips. 

Everything fell into disarray in that moment. Her arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him closer despite the protest his back might be giving him over enduring this position for so long. To them, this was worth it.

The pain. The hopelessness. The anguish. 

All of it drained from their bodies. The calm before the storm claiming them before running straight into the eye of the storm.

Minutes passed. Both Archon savoring what time they had left. There was no time to discard clothing and delve into something akin to base desires. Pox’s army wouldn’t wait for them to properly sate their desire to imprint one another’s naked bodies in their head, should anything go awry.

Bitterly Reyvanna pulled away first. Noting the feeling of Tunon’s free arm wrapped around her back. She hadn’t felt it press her right up against him. Their warmth fueling one another like a fire feeding off wood.

Hands resumed their proper places. Tunon’s darting back to properly afix his mask back against his face. Even if he no longer worked for Kyros’ as her vassal, he still clung tightly to remaining masked to everyone. Everyone but _her_ , that was.

In the wake of current events, they resumed their facades. Empress and vassal. Master and servant.

It was all a lie. In reality, they were more of equals. But for the sake of the court, they acted as if there was nothing between them save the difference in power. 

“The Court will await your return,  _Reyvanna_.” Stoic and emotionless rang within his deep voice. But Reyvanna knew better. It was his way of saying ‘ _becareful and come back alive_ ’. 

Fondness flickered across her features for but a moment, dropping the immovable mask of the Empress. “I don’t plan on dying, Tunon.” A fang filled smirk graced her lips, a light teasing dripping into her voice. And then, the look of endearment melted from her features as quickly as it appeared. It didn’t reach her eyes, however. The warmth of love and adoration strong in the deep almost honey colored eyes of her’s. The change from the deep dark brown bordering on black to a honeyed color caused the older archon to still in place.

He knew what it meant. And yet, his tongue stayed fast within his mouth. Now was not the time to mention the shift. The telltale sign of an archon truly coming into power. 

 “I love you.” The words flew out of Reyvanna’s lips faster than she meant them to. A pained sympathetic look crossed her face before finally, she turned her back to the Archon of justice, unlatched the door, and delved straight into hell itself.

Deep within his very being a sense of dread washed over him. Fear, a common feeling in all his years, took root. His hands clenched into tightly formed balls as he was forced to remain behind. Tunon understood the reasoning. Part of him wishes he didn’t.

But he did. “Return alive.” Smoke drifted out the door as the Archon set off to prepare for the Empress’ absence. 


End file.
